


Together, Forever

by zombieutopia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Blood and Torture, Dark, Dark Dean Winchester, Dark fic, Demon Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotionally Unstable Dean Winchester, Episode: Soul Survivor, Feelings, Graphic Violence, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Knight of Hell, M/M, Mild Mental Breakdown, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, S10E3 - Soul Survivor, Tags May Change, Torture, Trauma Dreams, Very Dark Fic, Violence, Violent Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombieutopia/pseuds/zombieutopia
Summary: Sam never truly believed that he would fail to save his brother. Fail to cure him. He never doubted that his brother was still there, behind those black eyes, trying to reign in the power - the curse - that had corrupted him. Sam knew from years of experience together, through heaven and hell, torture and death, that Dean would never really hurt him or those he loved.Together, forever….Until they weren’t.





	1. We Can't Fight What's In Us, B.

**Author's Note:**

> Important Note: 
> 
> I have added all of the archive warnings for the whole story from the very beginning so that readers will know what they are getting themselves into.
> 
> BUT I have NOT added all of the tags. Tags will be updated with each chapter to help prevent spoilers and I will be putting an authors note at the beginning of each chapter for additional trigger warning information. 
> 
> This story is dark and graphic. ALWAYS CHECK TAGS BEFORE YOU READ EACH CHAPTER. 
> 
> Play safe!

*******

 

_“Will we? ‘Cuz right now, I’m doing all I can not to come over there and rip your throat out...with my teeth. I’m giving you a chance, Sam. You should take it…._

_...That ain’t mercy. That's the worst thing I could have done to him. And what I’m gonna do to you, Sammy...well, that ain’t gonna be mercy, either…_

_...You’re just making this worse for yourself, man! Oh, by the way, you can, uh...blame yourself for me getting loose…_

_...But, see...here’s the thing, Im lucky. Oh, hell, I’m blessed! ‘Cuz, there's just enough demon left in me that killing you aint no choice at all.”_

**_Pain._ **

*******

 

Sam rose to consciousness slowly. Sluggishly. Everything felt leaden; heavy and stagnant in the tar-thick darkness. It was crushing and omnipresent and he floated in the nothingness, weightless. Formless. Unaware of anything but a dull thud somewhere deep, deep in the background. It throbbed; pulsing weakly in a slow, erratic metronome, barely there.

But the moment it was there it became impossible to ignore.

He tried to pull away, retreat and sink back down. Tried to will himself back into the nothingness, into blissful nonexistence, but the attempt only seemed to increase its presence.

Each. Unsteady. Beat. Seemed to increase in strength, bringing with it wave after wave of syrupy sickness until it became an undisputed fact that everything in existence was created from and made up of an endless, sticky, pounding nausea. He floated in it, was made of it, became it.

It was all encompassing and with it came an unsettling ache that grew until it formed into something he could easily identify: pain. Acute and pervasive; it bloomed bright and blinding behind his eyes, sent splintered and shattering through his skull.

Eyes. Head.

 _Alive_.

_Dean..._

Awareness slammed into him like a physical force. He tried to move; struggled to curl heavy limbs, lift his head, roll over, open his eyes. He felt the weak, jerky muscle contractions, without any control or precision, and failed to pull his awareness beyond the red and black swirling behind his closed eyes and the pain that suffused everything.

The effort left him feeling shaky, exhausted. Expended. The only clear, cognizant thought that surfaced through the agony was the repeated begging plea for everything to stop. For the burning, ache in his skull and the ringing in his ears, and the constant, vibrating movement through what remained of his body, to cease. To end. For everything to fade away.

 _Dean_.

He was breathing. He could feel the involuntary movement, feel the breath slip through his throat, ragged and wet, as it scraped its way into his body, hung in space for a brief moment, before trickling back out. Slow. Shallow. Steady. In, pause, out. In. Pause. Out. Pause. Out of sync with the erratic fast-slow pounding in his head and chest.

A sound pressed its way through the cottony din, a crash that he felt more than heard that was immediately followed by another and another and another. Muffled thumps and fuzzy impacts, staccato shouts, directionless vibrations from somewhere outside of him. It felt like a beacon. Salvation. Something outside of the darkness he was stuck in.

It felt like an effort he couldn't manage.

Fingers slipped their way through his hair, scraping against the raw skin of his scalp. Pain screaming through his head as they curled, repositioning his head with a vicious yank to his hair, holding him fast, as yet more fingers dug into his jaw, gripping his face, biting into his flesh. His throat and stomach spasmed, acidic liquid rising up the back of his throat as his body struggled beyond his control, convulsing against the sudden stimulation that short circuited everything else. A brush against his ear brought a muffled hum, an indecipherable voice that rose and fell before the hands shoved him away and disappeared.

Sam could feel that nothingness hovering again, closing over him, and he welcomed it. Relaxing into its numbing presence as the pain and awareness blissfully began to fade.

An explosion of burning white washed into the darkness, more liquid than light as it poured into him. It ripped his awareness back from the edge of nothing and, for a moment, Sam found himself trying to fight against it. Struggling ineffectually to stay buried down deep in the black and empty that promised him peace. It flared through his skull and shoulder, searing bright and hot, before spreading out to consume him whole. Within a breath the pain and sickening weight receded, leaving him feeling healthy, whole. Awake.

Sam opened his eyes with a desperate gasp, the world slowly stitching itself back together around him. The light above him was blindingly bright, just enough to highlight the broken devil’s trap on the floor spreading out in all directions around him and little else beyond. Heavy dread stuck in his throat, threatening to choke him, suffocate him, as he forced himself to confirm what he already knew. The coarse rope bit into his skin, wound tight in knots and coils around his wrists and forearms, binding him to the chair he sat in. A furtive twitch of his feet told him his legs had received the same treatment. There was a subtle, fuzzy tingle in his fingertips that he knew was only going to get worse if he didn’t do something about the bindings soon.

The familiar metallic zip of handcuffs cinching home clicked behind him and Sam twitched at the sudden sound in the silent room.

“Hiya Sammy!”

Sweat crawled across his skin in pin-pricks as memories flooded back in at his brother’s voice. Sam wrenched his head to the side to try and see over his shoulder but Dean saved him the trouble. He watched as his brother dragged Castiel into view and gave him a rough, dismissive shove.

Sam watched as Cas stumbled, off balance, and collided with the table just barely visible in the gloom. When he managed to straighten himself out, regaining a little of his usual composure, Sam finally got a good eyeful of Castiel’s battered form. Half of his face was crusted with a thick layer of drying blood, drenching everything from his hairline to the still-crisp collar of his once-white shirt. Everything but a strangely clean swath of skin that meandered from just under the angel’s ear, up over his jaw and ended at the corner of his mouth, breaking up the carmine mask into two jagged pieces. A dusky purple bruise shadowed the skin under his left eye and his lower lip was split in two places. Warded cuffs dug into his wrists and ankles.

Sam’s stomach twisted, worry and guilt worming their way deep into his gut. He swallowed it down thickly.

“Cas, are you okay? How did you…” Sam trailed off as Dean moved in his periphery. Castiel looked oddly better now, tired and battered and bloody, than the last time he and Sam had seen each other. The last time, the angel had been on the verge of death, nearly human with his failing grace and barely able to stand on his own. Castiel had been in no shape to hunt or help with Dean. The only reason he had called him for help was because Sam had been certain he could wrestle his brother into restraints and keep him safely locked down while Castiel helped him with the cure.

Sam had been wrong. And now Castiel was paying for his desperate, misguided mistake. The guilt coating his insides turned viscous and heavy.

Castiel’s eyes darted briefly to Dean, looming just a few feet away, before looking to Sam with a carefully blank expression.

“I’ve been working with another angel recently. Hannah. I’ve been helping her track down rogue angels, who’ve refused to return to Heaven. We were on our way here when we were confronted. By one of the angels we had been dealing with. We were taken by surprise and she managed to injure me gravely. Hannah nearly…”

Dean rolled his eyes with an exaggerated groan, leveling a harsh look at Castiel that flickered between boredom and growing impatience. Something flashed deep in demon’s eyes that drew Sam’s attention. Something sharp and predatory that was quickly buried and made every muscle in Sam’s body tense, on edge. Castiel didn’t seem to notice, barely sparing Dean a glance before he continued on with his story.

“Um….Crowley showed up. He killed the angel attacking us and stole her grace. He...forced me to take it. He said that he wanted me to…” Cadtiel cleared his throat and looked down for a moment before continuing. “He correctly assumed I was already on my way here and wanted me to help you cure Dean.”

Dean laughed then, dark and rough. The sound made the skin on the back of Sam’s neck crawl. Dean didn’t sound amused or entertained, he sounded dangerous.

“Again with Crowley! Oooh...that limey bastard is definitely on my shit list.” He spared a glance at Castiel, this time with interest, eyes travelling slowly over him as a smirk bloomed across his lips. “Nice of him to send me a powered-up angel though. Makes things far more entertaining...”

The statement turned Sam’s stomach to ice. There was a part of him that couldn’t truly believe his brother would kill either of them. Not really. But the demon had said enough, and with enough honest fervor, to make him doubt his convictions. The reality of their situation suddenly settled over him, transforming the ice into a leaden pit. They just had to stall long enough to escape. If they could find a way out, they could recapture the demon and cure his brother. And with Cas powered up again…

“Dean! Dean please...listen to me...this isn’t the real you! I know we can fix this.” Sam pleaded. He had tried reasoning with Dean every chance he’d got since his brother had first disappeared. He knew better than to hope that this time would be any different but used the distraction to tug at the ropes binding him, testing their shape and give. There was none. Years of hunting together gave Dean the advantage of knowing exactly how Sam slipped bindings and exactly how to prevent it from being possible. The ropes were knotted in multiple places, winding over his wrists and forearms creating multiple points of restriction. Getting out would require a knife.

Dean lolled his head towards Sam, eyes slipping to an oil-slick black and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Jesus Christ, Sam! Haven’t we been over this already? I told you. I know Crowley told you. Hell, I even heard Cas tell you! Which word didn’t you understand?” Dean drawls out the movie quote with more sarcasm and condescension than the actor ever managed, delivered with barely even a pause. “Yes. This is me. I knew there was a cure and _I left anyway._ I’m not possessed. I’m not being controlled. I wasn’t kidnapped. This is the real me...and I don’t. want. the. cure!”

“No.” Sam shook his head and looked at Castiel, hoping for backup, but the angel just watched Dean with a sad, dark expression. “It isn’t you. It's the mark and the blade and it’s Crowley. I know you, Dean. I know _my brother_ and you’d never let yourself just... be a demon.”

Dean gave a theatrical sigh at that and turned his black eyes to Castiel, who visibly flinched under his gaze.

“Cas, remind the class how demons are made?” Dean asked.

“Dean, I know damn well -” Sam started, trying to keep the conversation, and Dean’s focus, on him and away from Castiel.

“Apparently you need a refresher. CAS!”

To his credit, Castiel simply sighed and gave the demon an exasperated look. “Dean...I don’t think that this is entirely nece-”  
  
Dean was moving before either of them could register it, backhanding Castiel with a force that could easily shatter bones. The sharp crack of Dean’s hand connecting solidly with flesh echoed off the concrete walls as the angel crumpled to the ground at his feet. A lump rose in Sam’s throat, hard and dry, worried that any word from him would only make Dean lash out more.

Bright red blood dribbled from Castiel's lip and he spat out a mouthful more before pulling himself into a seated position with something that almost seemed like calm. Castiel’s behavior in the face of Dean’s violence sent the cold, crawling sensation nestled on the nape of his neck skittering down across his back and shoulders. _If Cas didn’t think…._

“How are demons normally made, Cas?”

Sam looked up at his brother in pained disgust. The demon’s tone was once again light; conversational and amused, uncaring, despite looking down on his best friend, bleeding freely by his hand. Castiel swallowed, wiping the remaining blood on the sleeve of his trenchcoat.

“When a soul goes to hell after death, the soul is tortured. Usually in horrific, unspeakable ways. Over and over again. Endlessly. Until eventually all humanity is stripped from it, leaving a soul so twisted and broken that it becomes an abomination. A demon.” Castiel's voice roughened, sounding raw, as if he really didn't want to say what he was about to say. His deep blue eyes shifted past Dean and met Sam’s, speaking directly to him in a tone that felt like an apology. “Often there is very little - if any - of the original human qualities left that the soul once possessed. That person is gone. Only the demon remains.” He finished through gritted teeth.

“Gold star!” Dean replied enthusiastically and turned to focus his full attention on Sam.

“But, when the Cure of Sanctified…” Castiel broke in again, voice slightly raised.

“We aren’t talking about the fucking cure!” Dean growled. The shadows in the room suddenly deepened and lengthened, making the weak amber lighting seem insignificant. A murderous expression crossed the demon’s face but he kept his back to the angel on the floor. When Castiel didn’t offer up any further argument, Dean took a calming breath and looked at Sam.

“I’m not a normal demon, Sammy. The Mark...the blade...they started twisting and darkening my human soul from the moment I got ‘em. With the damage that had already been done from hell? By Alastair? _Under Alastair?_ From all the times I’ve died...and killed and tortured….My soul was already pushing dark. It just made the Mark of Cain and the First Blade’s job that much easier. All those hundreds of years it normally takes to char a soul….condensed down into months. Dying was just the final switch that finished the job, turning me into a Knight of Hell. This is my body. My brain. And my soul.”

Dean crouched down so he was at Sam’s level and yanked the collar of his shirt down, exposing his tattoo, now inverted.

“I even still have my anti-possession tattoo. Doesn’t give me a problem... because this is all me, Sammy.” Dean leveled his gaze at him, eyes shining inky black as he waited for Sam’s response. Sam felt the need to argue bubble up in his throat; to contradict Castiel, try and reach whatever part of the real Dean might still be in there. Convince him that there was a way to fix this. A way to be human again. It was like an itch. He _knew_ it wouldn’t do any good. _Knew_ he couldn’t reason with the demon, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from scratching the need to try. This time, however, he resisted, gritted his teeth and swallowed any arguments.

Dean tilted his head a little, eyes hard, and watched Sam wrestle himself under control. When Dean seemed satisfied with Sam’s lack of response, he clapped his hands together with a smirk, breaking the moment, and backed away.

“So! Now that that's out of the way…”

Sam and Castiel exchanged dark looks as Dean began to stroll casually back and forth across the room.

“You see, Sam...I haven’t been bothering anyone. I’ve just been spending my time banging waitresses, drinking booze, eating crappy food and singing crappier karaoke. I fed the Mark with bar brawls, the occasional Abbadon supporters...Oh, and by cleaning up your messes, baby brother.” Dean wagged his finger in Sam’s direction, eyebrows raised.

Sam struggled to keep his eyes fixed on his brother, avoiding the confused and questioning look that Castiel shot his way. Acknowledged or not, the angel’s gaze still made Sam’s chest constrict painfully, making it even harder to breathe past the guilt that had been trying to choke him since he woke up.

“And then you came bustin’ in... and decided it was a good idea to drag my ass away from all of that...I left for a reason, Sam.” His brother stilled, looking down at him as his black eyes shifted back to familiar green, a smile splitting his face. “Now I have all the reason and time in the world to show you both exactly why.”

Sam blinked. _Torture._ Dean...was planning to draw this out. Make it last. Of course he was. If the demon had been intending on just killing either of them, there had been ample opportunity to do so. If that had been the case, he never would’ve woken up from that blow to the head. Dean wouldn’t have had Castiel heal him. Castiel wouldn’t just be shackled. No. He had kept them alive. Maybe Dean was in there somewhere after all...

Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew the demon would have _no qualms_ with hurting them. But it still gave him hope. This wasn’t the first time Dean’s actions had seemed to suggest that he was still Dean deep down under everything, no matter what Castiel had said. His brother was in there and he had to believe Dean wouldn’t kill them.

Sam’s eyes twitched in Castiel's direction. Dean had all but said what he was keeping Castiel around for. If he needed Castiel, then Sam was reasonably sure he wouldn’t seriously hurt him.

_For now. Not until that borrowed grace fails. Until he’s no longer useful._

Sam mentally shook the thought away. Castiel was their best chance. He would just have to make sure Dean’s focus stayed on him.

Torture Sam could handle. After everything they’d been through, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he could endure whatever Dean had planned, and it had the benefit of giving them time to figure this out.

Sam swallowed hard and he steeled himself against the idea. He met Dean’s gaze and nodded.

“None of this is your fault. You don’t want to do this, Dean. Not really. But I can take it. Hold out until we can cure you.” Sam said, voice catching.

His brother’s face went blank for a moment before he rolled his eyes with a hoarse groan.

“It's like talking to a friggin’ wall!” Dean muttered as he walked over to Castiel and secured the angel’s bindings to the table, ensuring he couldn't move from his spot on the floor. “You know what? Whatever, Sammy. You hold on to that optimism. It'll be fun to break. And on that note...before we get started, I have a few things to take care of. Sit tight.”

With that Dean pushed the door open, throwing Sam a mocking wave before he locked them in.

 

*******

 

They sat in the heavy silence for a moment before Sam finally spoke up.

“Cas. I’m so sorry for getting you into this, man.” The angel looked up at him. Mouth pursed together in a solid line. The skin around his eyes drawn tight. Sam couldn’t decide if he looked hurt or resigned. “I shouldn’t have…”

“This isn’t your fault, Sam.” Castiel’s voice had a tone of quiet finality to it. “I wanted to help. Needed to help. I owe you both that much.” Castiel sighed, slumping just a little. “I just wish I had been able to get here sooner...or at least had managed to deal with the demon. But this...borrowed grace,” Castiel looked down at his vessel and shook his head. “Even replenished, leaves me at a severe disadvantage against him. If I had been able to touch him, get ahold of him somehow...I might have had a chance…” He trailed off with a small shrug.

Sam wiggled his wrists and ankles as he thought through Castiel words. Mindlessly taking note of his circulation and the sensation in his extremities. The ropes were tight, unmoving, but they didn't seem to be causing any problems. A frown scrunched up his face.

“How did he manage to take you down? He didn’t know you were coming...did he?”

“I don’t know. When I entered the bunker I heard movement and followed it. I found you lying on the floor and at first I wasn’t sure you were even still alive. You had lost a lot of blood and your injury...was very serious. I had just started to heal you when...when I was hit in the head from behind. The injuries I sustained from the hammer stalled me long enough for Dean to grab my blade. I knew if I fought him at that point, we would both die.” Castiel spoke carefully, voice edged with gravel.

Sam nodded and swallowed several times.

“Cas...Listen. We have time to figure this out. Find a way to get the upper hand and finish this. You heard him...He’s going to keep us alive. So when the opening comes, we can bind him and finish the cure…” Sam said in a rush.

“No.” Castiel sounded pained but his voice was firm.

“The cure could still work! Hell, it worked enough to let him escape the cuffs and a devil’s trap.”

“Sam, no. That time has passed. If we have the opportunity…” Sam abruptly cut him off, as if allowing Castiel to finish that sentence would solidify it into reality as _the only way._

“This is _Dean_ , Cas! This is my _brother_! And I can’t just…” Sam’s voice broke, leaving him choking on silence before he cleared his throat and started again. “I won’t give up on him just yet. We’ve been here before and we’ve always managed. No matter the odds. We’ll do it again. Just...please?”

Sam cleared his throat again, barely keeping the tears back as he watched Castiel struggle with what Sam was asking him.

“Sam…” Castiel started but broke off with a strangled gasp. His hand flew up towards his head only to be jerked to a stop inches away, impeded by the cuffs. Sam watched a look of horror blanket the angel’s features, blue eyes wide.

“Cas? What's wrong?” Sam asked cautiously. The angel didn’t answer him, just gritted his teeth as the horror morphed into anger and then into something that looked terrifyingly like despair. With a final wince, Castiel closed his eyes.

“Cas! What the hell is happening?” Sam yelled, demanding an answer he wasn’t sure he really wanted.

“Dean….” Castiel took a steadying breath. “Dean found Hannah. She was waiting outside the bunker. In the car.”

“Did...Did he…” Sam stuttered out. Castiel just nodded his confirmation. “How do you know?”

“These...they prevent me from using my power. Dampen it. Cut it off. With these on -” Eyes trained on the floor in front of him, Castiel raised his wrists to indicate the cuffs, chain clinking. “I am essentially helpless.” Castiel lifted his head, looking Sam in the eye. “But apparently they do nothing at all to stop the message if an angel is praying to you for help over Angel Radio.”

The pit in Sam’s stomach gave a sickening drop, churning as the full meaning of what Castiel was telling him solidified in his mind.

“Oh my god, Cas. I’m...so sorry.” Sam whispered. Molasses-heavy silence stretched between them, Castiel’s arguments gathering more and more weight in light of Hannah’s death until Sam felt strangled by them. He found himself shaking his head in response to the angel’s unspoken arguments.

“He’s still in there somewhere. I’m sorry about Hannah, Cas. I really am...but I can’t just write him off. Not yet.” Sam voice shook but he took a deep breath and continued. “Promise me you’ll help. Save your strength. Do the bare minimum when he has you heal me. Do whatever you need to do. Just promise me you’ll help try to save him. And….and if there is no other way...and we have an opening...I promise I’ll end it.”

Castiel stared at him, eyes burning blue fire, for a long minute. Sam had almost given up on getting an answer when Castiel finally relented, speaking in a hard, terse voice.

“Okay, Sam. We’ll try.”

Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and collapsed a little against his chair, relief flood through his limbs and unwinding some of the tension in his head.

A few minutes later Dean came bursting back into the room, splattered with blood and carrying his duffle bag, which he threw onto the table with a loud, heavy bang. The noise made Castiel flinch but he otherwise ignored Dean’s presence.

Dean smirked down at them.

“Alright! Time to get to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit Where Credit Is Due:
> 
> 1\. I have a beta reader for this story!!! CC_Sestra! She is amazing and I am absolutely sure this story wouldn't be what it is without her awesome help! I'm very lucky that she agreed to beta for me. 
> 
> Definitely check out her stuff! She's awesome. (Edit: I tried to link her here but I epic failed at that and it didn't work BUT she was extra awesome and commented on this story, so you can find a link to her page below!)
> 
> 2\. I'm guessing not too many people will have caught the references in the story title, chapter title, and summary (if you did, kudos to you for your awesome taste in movies!) 
> 
> They are quotes from the Canadian horror movie trilogy Ginger Snaps. If you haven't seen them, you wont be missing anything critical for this story. But I highly recommend them! They are amazing and bloody and campy and fantastic. 
> 
> This is NOT a mash-up fic. 
> 
> It is going to be 100% SPN.
> 
> Referencing GS here started out as a complete accident and then turned into a joke...and then I just decided why the hell not?!
> 
> Ginger Snaps and SPN just go so well together (and even share 6 actors...two of whom played reoccurring characters on SPN: Becky Rosen and Ava Wilson, if anyone was curious.). 
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Especially comments. I love hearing from the people reading my stories on their thoughts, opinions, and critiques on both the story itself and my writing. It helps keep me motivated and striving to improve.
> 
> Thank you!


	2. You Give Up Now, You Leave Me Here Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14 subscribers just on chapter one!? 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the update. Make sure to check tags!
> 
> Thank you so, so much to the amazing and wonderful CC_Sestra for beta'ing this story and being incredibly patient with me and my crazy!!

Sam had survived the Cage.

Michael had been wrathful and implacable at his best; intent on spending his imprisonment doling out what he had deemed “righteous punishment” for Sam screwing up “the plan”. Lucifer, on the other hand, had been nothing but the pure embodiment of rage, sadistic creativity, and spite. Snarky and sarcastic as ever. Delighted to have playmates to keep his attention this time around. And he had seemed perfectly content to focus all of his never ending energy on Sam (when he wasn’t taking cheap shots at his brother).

Sam had spent the years - _decades? centuries?_ \- awashed in horrors and torments he couldn’t quite wrap his head around without feeling insane. He had lived through every second as his skin sloughed off in sheets like an overripe fruit. Knew how it felt to have his intestines pulled slowly from his body by inch and handful. He knew what is was like to have the blood boil in his veins, eyes desiccate in their sockets, and the searing experience of being both frozen and on fire at the same time.

At one point, Lucifer had decided that Sam needed a “good, quality, special one-on-one session” with him and spent an inordinate amount of time slowly flaying open Sam’s feet. Peeling away each layer of skin and muscle and fascia with precise little flicks of his finger, rending Sam’s flesh as easily as a scalpel. Cracking jokes and making snide comments while he removed each individual bone with care, one at a time, and held up the bloody off-white lumps for Sam to inspect before tossing them over his shoulder like so much trash and moving on to the next one in line.

Sam had been so sure - _more than sure_ \- that he could withstand anything Dean could ever do to him. If he could survive the Cage, he could survive this. He could withstand pain. Was _practiced_ in it. Especially if it meant getting the chance to save his brother.

He had tried to brace himself against what he knew was coming. He focused on Dean’s rage-filled face, black void eyes and clenched jaw, as he laid down the first slash across Sam’s shoulder. Tried to focus on _why_ he had to withstand this. Tried to focus on the fact that this _wasn’t_ his brother doing this. He tried to focus on his own anger at Cain, at Crowley, at Metatron. He knew what to expect; his shirt ripped open to reveal the gash across his chest, blood soaking skin and cloth after a moment of pale white shock, the involuntary hiss pulled through clenched teeth, the violent jerk of muscles away from the threat, the sweat breaking out in pin-pricks across his flesh.

It had gone as expected for the first few, rapid strikes until Dean’s rage cooled into something more like hunger and his movements became more calculated.

That conviction soon crumbled as reality bled through, highlighting the fact that his memories of the Cage were far duller than he had realized. Further away. Muted. Blunted by time and the separation from actual flesh. And Castiel...Cas had managed to transfer the damage the Cage had caused him. How much of the experience had been leached away? Now, under Dean’s well-trained hands, the Cage seemed more like a visceral, impossibly realistic dream - muted and fading in the safe light of day. And the handful of memories Sam had of being tortured outside of hell were even less vivid than those of the Cage.

Everything that came before the here and now suddenly - and _starkly_ \- paled and shrunk into insignificance as Dean settled in to the task, taking his time exploring Sam’s body as he searched out all the right spots and angles that were needed to turn Sam into a screaming, writhing, bloody mess.

It hadn’t taken long for the cold, numbing shock to settle in under his skin. And after some unknowable, indeterminate amount of time, Dean abandoned all other forms of entertainment in favor of expertly working his way along Sam’s chest. Carefully positioning the blade between Sam’s ribs and sinking in inch by inch, letting his erratic breathing do most of the the work severing the thick outer bands of muscles that held the bones together. As each muscle fiber was shorn away, each time the demon finished with a rib and began again with the next - _so much worse than his feet. So much more pain. So much more here, more real_ \- breathing became more and more like drowning. Gradually ascending up his chest like rising water, jagged shards of pain and an immobile crushing weight pressing up into him, cutting off his ability to draw in a full breath. Suffocating him. Encasing him.

He could do little more than wheeze and shake under Dean’s care. He couldn’t remember when he had stopped trying to hold in the sounds that were being ripped from him. Couldn’t remember when his resolute, bitten-off hisses and grunts had broken into hoarse screaming, or when those screams had died off into little more than the raspy whine that was all Dean could manage to pull from him now.

A noise from outside of him reached his ears through the red haze. Like a groan but not. Quiet and excited. A sudden jerk from the blade sent sparks of white dancing behind his eyes but he peeled them open anyway, only to find his older brother kneeling next to him.

Dean looked as if he had been waiting hours for just that moment. When Sam’s fuzzy unfocused gaze met his dark green eyes, hungry and expectant and broiling with pent up rage, a smile spread across his features like warm honey with a harsh flash of white teeth as he increased the pressure and slid the blade deeper in one long, steady glide.

Sam’s whistling gasp (a pathetic little noise that once-upon-a-time would have been a scream) caught in his throat with a raw burn. His remaining muscles spasmed against the lump and forced a cough up and out of his throat. The blade snagged bone with the movement and changed angle, sliding in deep and easy with a sickening, squelching _pop_.

Sam’s first real scream in hours had a gurgling, muted quality to it as the metal guard thunked against bone.

“Oh...for fucks sake!” Dean swore, wrenching the blade out of Sam’s chest with an annoyed huff.

Suddenly it didn’t feel all that much like drowning anymore, with its pressure and burning to get every lungful of air before being submerged once more to fight and struggle for the next. Memories flashed through Sam’s mind; reliving all the times he had belly-flopped in motel pools, every fall from a high place, every surprise sucker-punch to the gut. Every time his lungs had been shocked into forgetting what their job was for a few terrifying minutes. Except this time, unlike every other time before it, he could try and gasp for breath, writhe and struggle and manage to pull in a shallow, sticky mouthful of air that just made the lack of oxygen feel that much worse. A bright copper taste flooded his mouth and his throat itched with every aborted breath.

“Dean...you have to let me heal him now.” Castiel’s voice, hesitant but insistent, cut through the unsettling sucking sound that filled the room. The quiet suddenly seemed omnipresent. Overpowering in a way that it hadn't been just the moment before.

“Shut the fuck up, Cas.” Dean’s reply sounded distant, distracted, but managed to hold an edge of warning. “I will tell you when you are allowed to heal him, not the other way around. Are we understandin’ one another?”

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t. _fucking_. _breathe_.

Fear reared up in a blinding rush and crawled through his guts, his body mindlessly pulling and shaking against the ropes wrapped around him as if getting free would somehow magically grant him the ability to breathe, would kick his lungs back to life. Somewhere in the back of his mind behind the frantic screaming for air and buzz of pain, a small voice whispered that he was panicking, that the more he struggled, the faster he was going to die. But he couldn’t listen to it. _Dean wouldn’t allow that and he needed to fucking breathe._

He heaved, muscles clenching in an attempt to force air down into his lungs and found a tangy, metallic liquid bubbling up his throat instead. He choked and sputtered, tacky warmth coating his lips and chin as his face started to tingle with cold.

“Dean. His lungs are filling with blood. It has to be now.” Sam could barely understand Castiel’s words through the whooshing sound pounding in his ears, but he latched on to them anyway, trying desperately to concentrate and keep himself conscious.

“I can fucking see that, Cas. Hard to miss someone drowning in their own blood. Give me a goddamn second.” Something about Dean’s hard, fascinated tone wiggled its way past the panic and pain. Something about the way he formed the words, something about the words themselves, terrified Sam more than his inability to breathe but before he could focus on them, puzzle out why, the terror faded away. Everything drifted, fuzzy and numb, as his muscles slowly slackened under a wave of exhaustion and everything narrowed to black.

***

The bright white light swept through his body; flicking across lacerations and broken bones, severed muscle and nicked arteries, weakly burning away the damage until only the faintest traces remained.

***

  
The kick finally happened; muscles unlocking with a jolt and an involuntary, gasping breath that made his lungs feel shredded and raw. The sudden surge of oxygen had his head swimming, lightheaded and dizzy, as he gulped down lungful after lungful until the pressure pounding behind his eyes eased and faded and the world seemed to come back in to itself.

He waited for everything to settle into something resembling stability, stomach flipping summersaults as the room finished doing its impression of a tilt-a-whirl, before opening his eyes, only to be met with deep blue concern.

Castiel stared down at him, face creased with worry and something like buried panic. When Sam stirred his expression hardened, eyebrows raised slightly as he gave a subtle, questioning nod. It took Sam a moment to understand what Castiel was trying to convey but his mind was already racing to catch up; cataloging the bruised ache in his chest, the fuzzy headache, and the tacky slickness of his skin. He’d been healed enough times to know something wasn’t right. He shouldn’t still hurt. He shouldn’t still be exhausted. Relief and understanding washed through him as everything clicked into place at what the lingering pain meant. He nodded his acknowledgement, gritting his teeth, and Castiel removed the hand he had pressed to Sam’s forehead.

The moment it became obvious that Castiel had finished his task, Dean roughly grabbed a fistful of the angel’s dark hair. Sam watched, acrid fear rising thick and bitter in the back of his throat, as his brother hauled Castiel backwards, pulling him in close as the demon cinched the cuffs back around plient wrists.

Dean looked almost drunk-happy; smooth, easy smile and green eyes glittering with fevered excitement but when he spoke, lips nearly brushing along the shell of Castiel’s ear, his voice was low and sharp. 

“Cas? Care to explain to me why he still looks like shit? Didn’t I tell you to fix him up?”

“That..that was the third time today I’ve had to...to heal significant injuries. I-” Castiel winced, a pained expression flashing over his features as the demon yanked his head back even further.

“Dea-” Sam croaked, the need to distract his brother welling up in his throat, but his trashed voice barely rose above a whisper.

“Are you telling me, Cas, that you’ve already outlived your use to me?” Dean asked, voice thick with mock incredulity as he nuzzled the angel’s throat in an almost teasing fashion before shifting his stoney gaze back to Sam.

Despite feeling so solid - _so sure_ \- in his belief that his brother wouldn’t kill them, it didn’t prevent the cold horror that flooded his veins at the demon’s words or the rising nausea as he watched the sick, gleeful imitation of an intimacy his brother would have never displayed in such an easy, open fashion. He felt himself give the restraints a vicious tug before the desire even had time to consult his brain. His reaction to the display drew out another sparkling smile from the demon.

In contrast to Sam’s emotional reaction, Castiel’s answer was stiff and monotone, the perfect match to the blank stare the angel was giving the ceiling.

“No, Dean. I can still function. I just need to recharge. A little time to recover my strength.”

Sam expected anger, annoyance...gloating violence, even. Anything but the cold, sober expression that settled across Dean's features as his postured straightened behind Castiel. 

“Fine.” Dean said briskly, teeth grinding, as he unclenched his fist in Castiel’s hair and shoved him away as if Dean couldn’t get the angel out of his space fast enough. When Dean turned to face him, Sam felt the tension in his muscles ease even as apprehension gnawed at him. “I need a beer.”

Without so much as a direct look at either of them, Dean hastily crouched down by Sam’s right leg and reached out a hand. Sam twitched his leg against the restraints but Dean had already moved on to the left side. Sam stole a quick glance at Castiel. The angel had his head titled to one side, eyes narrowed and face drawn down into a deep frown as he watched Dean work. Judging by Castiel's reaction, whatever Dean was doing probably wasn't immediately dangerous. 

A moment later Dean pressed a finger into the rope wrapped around his left wrist where Sam could see. A slight burnt-orange glow flared up and died off as Dean trailed his finger across the rope with small, sure movements, leaving blackened burn marks in his wake that rapidly molded themselves into a sigil. One Sam didn’t recognize. The moment the mark above his left wrist was complete, Dean shifted his weight and started on the right.

Despite the charred appearance, the hope that the restraints would be weakened by the process quickly dissolved. When Sam focused on the rope fibers, they looked whole and seemingly undamaged. Colored more than actually scarred.

A crawling sensation slithered across his skin after Dean completed the last sigil but it faded rapidly enough. Sam tried not worry about it. Yet. Whatever it was could be figured out and dealt with later, whenever they had a chance to worry about things more than the immediate threat of _Dean_.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean’s sardonic tone shook Sam out of his thoughts and instantly flushed when he realized his thought process had been far too evident on his face. Too easy for Dean to read. That kind of transparency was going to get them into trouble. He had to be smarter than that if they were going to have any kind of a chance.

Dean flashed a quick, hard look and an even harder smile as he stood up. With a slight raise of his eyebrow, head cocked to the side, arms spread wide...it was an expression Sam didn’t need explained. He’d been seeing versions of that same, cocky, older brother expression his entire life. He could almost hear Dean’s voice ringing in his head _“sorry man, you know better than that but I’m always gonna be better than you at this.You can’t beat me.”_

Sam bit the inside of his cheek and met his brother’s gaze with what he hoped was an equally confident look. Dean’s only response was to simply shrug and turn away, shaking his head as he began unceremoniously stuffing everything littering the table into the duffle bag.

“He better be cleaned up when I get back, Cas.” Dean said as he gave the room a final quick but thorough once over. Neither of them replied. Sam watched, feeling on edge and uneasy at this sudden turn but Dean did nothing more than haul the bag out of the room and slam the false shelves back into place.

The room was silent enough for them to hear the lock click home on the door beyond the shelves.

***

Sam stared at the wall of shelves, the muffled sounds of his brother’s presence fading as he left the dungeon - left them - behind. For now. He listened, straining to make out anything, any hint of movement, until the scuff of footsteps bled into the rapid thud of heartbeats.

The room felt empty.

Hallow.

Void.

He blinked down, gaze drifting over the dark sigils as something inside him _shifted_.

He didn’t know what they were. He should know. He should understand. There had to be some recognition, some knowledge, something buried within because he had to know what was being done, and why, and how to fix this. He had to fix this. There had to be a way to go back and restart. Close eyes and wake up and redo.

Nothing.

The dark lines, fibrous beige marred with sooty, coal-black squiggles, remained foreign and unforgiving and vice-tight around wrists and ankles.

A face of shadow and rough lines, snarling and smirking, all growls and curses. He should know this face too. Know it better than his own. But now its laughing and lusting as he screams and bleeds and dies.

_…”Now I have all the reason and time in the world to show you both exactly why”..._

Every muscle in his body managed to tense and relax simultaneously, feeling leaden and heavy as his insides writhed and jittered.

_...This was his brother…..Dean-_

“...Sam?” A voice asked. The gravely timbre cut through the din and shattered the oppressive silence. Reality snapped back into place with a lurch that left Sam’s stomach folding in on itself. He sucked in a gasping lungful of air, icy and thin, as his mind and body ticked back online.

“I’m fine. I’m okay.” Sam choked out, almost to himself, but couldn’t suppress the violent jump his body gave when Castiel knelt down beside him.

_He could do this. He had to._

“Sorry.” He managed to rasp, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to find something - _a thought, a goal, a reason...anything_ \- to anchor himself to.

“Sam...are you…”

“I’m fine, Cas.” Sam glanced up under his lashes and gave the angel a tight half-smile and a bob of his head. “Really. I’m good. Promise.”

Castiel just narrowed his eyes in response, expression showing he believed Sam’s assurances about as much as Sam did himself. But arguing the matter wouldn’t change anything. He was fine because he had to be fine. He’d been through worse. He could do this.

_Get your shit together, Sam._

“No. You’re not.” Castiel sighed.

“Cas, I a-” Sam’s voice broke with a reedy, whispy cough. He swallowed against the thick, sandpapery feeling and tried again. Nothing but a throaty hiss escaped. Sam watched the panic renew on Castiel’s face before it soured into something more like anger.

“I should have never agreed to this. I should have just healed you.” Castiel shook his head and stood back up.

Sam felt the flinch build up in his muscles but he clenched down on the need, stifling it. The realization and horror of having been so near the edge - so close to _breaking_ \- so soon, was still raw and growing in his mind. He knew one more slip might be it; if he allowed himself another lapse, he might not be able to snap back next time. And he wouldn’t be the only one lost. He had to hold on to something other than just the cocky belief that they’d get past this like every other similar situation he’d found himself in.

Because there had never been a similar situation. They couldn’t compare. Being tortured, or killed, by angels and demons and monsters and hunters couldn’t even come close to having Dean’s face be the one looming so close as the pain ate him alive.

Sam looked up at Castiel. Watched him rub absently at his face, only managing to widen the pale stripe dividing the red.

“No.” Sam whispered, straining to push as much sound out of his ruined throat as possible. “Only way.”

“And how exactly are we supposed to save him, Sam, if you are too weak and injured to even speak?”

“Need an opportunity.” His head still felt syrupy thick. Slow. But he forced himself to focus anyway, dampen the clamor of warring emotions and focus on the details. Work the case. What they knew. What they needed. He had to work on figuring out a solution or they'd never find one and they didn't have time for self-pity. 

Castiel gave a frustrated huff, looking both lost and annoyed as he shook his bowed head, eyes closed. When he spoke again his voice was low and quiet.

“So I’m just supposed to sit here and wait and endure and watch _him_ torture you again and again? Do my part and keep you barely alive in the hopes that we might get the upper hand before he grows bored and does something worse? So we can try to cure him, risk the chance of him escaping all over again, when there is the distinct possibility that we could never have cured him in the first place?”

The intensity and pain in Castiel’s voice made Sam pause. How was _this_ the only course he was willing to consider? From the moment he had told Castiel that his brother was a demon, the angel had taken every opportunity to remind Sam that it was likely that they would have to kill Dean, not save him. He just couldn’t figure out why. Sam had seen Castiel go to… _incredible_ lengths to save and protect Dean since the moment they had met him. He had rebelled for Dean. Sam and Castiel had always been friendly, familial even, but he held no illusions that Castiel had always been there for _Dean_. So why?

“After... _everything_ , you just... _give up_?”

The angel’s head wrenched up, eyes briefly flashing a weak metallic-silver that sputtered back to their normal deep blue.

“You think I _want_ this? You think I don’t want to save him? To save _Dean_? After everything…I would do an-” Emotion filled Castiel’s face; pain, longing, panic, sadness all entwined together and twisting his features before he managed to clamp down on all of it, ceasing the heated outburst. Castiel took a slow, steadying breath before his expression smoothed into a tightly held calm, lips pursed into a hard line.

 _Oh_.

“This isn’t what Dean would want, Sam. If we manage to cure him...do you think he’d ever forgive himself? If we do this, do you think he’d ever forgive me for letting it happen? Put his life above yours? We don’t even know if the cure would work on a demon like him and we don’t know how powerful he is now. You don’t know what he’s willing to do...” Castiel met Sam’s gaze with a pleading expression, as if willing him to understand. “I’m just….I’m...trying to focus on saving the remaining members of this family that I know can be saved. I-If I can’t save him...save you both...” Castiel’s voice faltered just a little but he cleared his throat a continued, voice suddenly resolute. “then I have do what Dean would have wanted. I have to at least save you.”

The declaration hung in the air between them, palpable and alive. Castiel looked drained. Dejected. All slumped shoulders and bowed head, looking even more beaten than when Sam had first woken up. He tried to bite his tongue and hold back the question that was battling its way between his teeth.

“Did Dean know?” Sam mentally winced at the past tense of the question that the conversation had drawn out of him. Castiel looked at Sam like he had just reached out and struck him. He watched as Castiel’s jaw clenched and unclenched, chewing at nothing, and Sam instantly regretted asking.

“I…my...feelings in this don’t...Dean wouldn’t…” Castiel stopped himself and took a breath. “No.”

Sam wasn’t so sure but kept his mouth shut anyway. He shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. He nodded apologetically and watched Castiel sit tiredly down on the floor, leaning back against the wall.

As he watched Castiel brood at the floor in front of him, he found himself wondering if Castiel had been simply telling Dean the truth when he had said he needed time to recharge.

Sam didn’t agree with Castiel. Couldn’t. They needed to figure this out because they could - _would_ \- cure his brother. And they’d deal with the aftermath when it came. Better that than the alternative.

Sam looked down at the ropes again, thinking over how they could possibly get the upper hand. Slowly slotting the details together and hoping the result would be something resembling a plan. He gently twisted his arms, feeling the coarse material scrape against his skin, back and forth, rolling his wrists and flexing the muscles in his forearms and was rewarded with the tiniest feeling of give. The corner of his mouth twitched.

He looked back up at Castiel.

“Cas...What are these?” He flicked his hands to indicate the ropes. He was pretty sure he already knew what they were but wanted the confirmation. If they were going to succeed at _anything_ he needed Castiel with him.

The angel tilted his head and looked over the marks from across the room. “They look to be...a rather strange mixture of enochian and aramaic sigils. I can pick out the individual elements in them but I’ve never seen them used in this manner. My guess is that they are binding wards, to prevent me from simply untying you.” Castiel said.

Sam nodded slowly.

“Any way to...break them?” Sam whispered.

“I would assume disrupting the lines would be just as effective as with anything else like this. But I don’t think thats really an option at the moment.”

Sam did smile then, which only seemed to etch the worry and annoyance deeper into Castiel’s face.

“I-” Sam tried to explain but the attempt devolved into a hacking cough that felt more like heaving. After a few moments it stuttered to a slow hiccup and he took a sharp breath through his nose to try again. The attempt was met with even worse results. Castiel finally held up a hand and met Sam’s watery gaze.

“Sam...Sam. Stop! You need to rest. We can talk again after you’ve had some time to recover but we don’t know when he’s coming back and we need to be ready when he does.” Castiel waited looking concerned and obviously expecting an argument. Sam reluctantly nodded in agreement. Castiel waited another moment before leaning back again and closing his eyes.

Sam looked down at the ropes and rolled his wrists, again feeling the barely-there budge. Clarity and purpose welled up in him followed immediately by utter exhaustion. He tried to ignore it but couldn't prevent his eyes slipping blissfully closed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments, kudos, and subscribing! You are all seriously amazing!


	3. I Have Seen Things, In Dreams and In Waking...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So I suck and I know some of you may have been waiting a long, long, long time for an update on this. 
> 
> I'm so sorry for the wait and I'm super sorry this chapter is so short. Its really just a bridge chapter but hopefully it'll tide you all over until I post again (which I SWEAR will be sooner than the 2-3 months it took me to post this!).
> 
> Lifes been insane. And writing is hard. And the combo of the two hasn't helped. But I should be able to post more often from this point forward. 
> 
> Anyway...thank you all soooooooo much for sticking with me and this story so far. Hope you all enjoy!

_Light switch. On. Off. On, off. Nothing._

_The room is silent. Cold. Stale air and thick with the taste of dust. The deep shadows give shape to the darkness, turning the sparse furniture into amorphous lumps huddled in their respective corners: desk, bookshelves, coffee table, couch._

_Something ticks somewhere deeper in the house, inside its walls, a pulsing metronome that abruptly strikes silence. Replaced by a deep, musical chime._

_He paws at the wall, moving by touch; soft paint covered drywall, hung picture frame, cool glass, mantel, more drywall, shaped wood. He ignores the bump and scrape and sharp tinkling of shattering glass as his hands disturb useless knick-knacks along the way. Leaving unseen destruction in his wake._

_The metallic vibrato of a second chime resonates throughout the room. Somehow simultaneously surround sound and distant echo._

_Hip height. He reaches his hand forward and grasps at the protruding, icy handle jutting from the wall. A muffled, frantic thumping on the other side of the door meets his ears, gives him a moment of pause, before he turns the handle and pushes his way through. Opens it out, revealing a long, dark hallway with a thin and weathered carpeted floor._

_“Sam-” A whisper hisses, a voice from nowhere and all around him, with the deep click-clang of the chime following hard on its heels. The vibration of the note is wrong in some indefinable way. Ringing out into the silence, disrupting the stagnation with a feeling that burrows its way in under his skin. Oppressive and thick with unease. The air barely gets a chance to settle around him before yet another toll renews._

_He looks around at the darkness and slowly moves out of the doorway. Searching._

_“Sammy!” Dean’s voice breaks through the cottony quiet, solid and watery and urgent._

_“Dean!” Sam quickens his pace as he throws his shoulder against a random section of nondescript wall. It gives. Sliding open to reveal an empty room. Nothing. “Dean? Where are you?”_

_Hallway. Opposite section of wall. Doesn’t budge._

_Chime. Louder. Chime. Clearer._

_“Dean!” He stumbles a little, toes going numb from the drag against the harsh carpet fibers, arms outstretched and shoving at the walls as he rushes down the hall that seems to gradually tilt. The world sloping sharply to the left._

_Another knell rings out, harsh and loud enough to hurt, thrumming through his head as he pulls himself through a blue-lit doorway on his right. Uphill turns level. The world righted._

_“I’m sorry. I mean, this is all my fault…” Dean’s gruff voice calls out to him from back in the hallway, reversing his step. Holding on to the peeling door frame, he leans to look down the corridor as choppy lights cut through the gloom. White fluorescents stutter to life at the far end, revealing rotting wood, threadbare carpet, and blank seamless walls in sharp, pulsing flashes._

_No._

_“Dean…?”_

_“I know that.” Dean’s voice crumbles on the word, hoarse and clear as day from the room he’s still half in. He slowly turns his head away from the disintegrating hall, turning his attention back into the moonlit room. The walls are smooth, whole, windowless and the floor is rough and jagged under his feet. Splattered shadows mar the flat surfaces of the room in a widening circumference, all surrounding Dean._

_Dean kneels in the middle of the floor; face swollen puffy and dripping blood onto his torn flannel shirt, eyes red and wet and nose leaking snot. “But what you're doin’...its not gonna save me. It's only goin’ to kill you…” His brother’s head drops, body limp, listlessly leaning back on his heels._

_The chime sings, visibly shaking the walls around them. Then rings again. And again. And again. Banging louder with every melodic strike._

_Sam rushes over, kneeling before his brother._

_“Dean...it's okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you, man. It’s gonna be okay.” Sam pushes at Dean’s shoulders, feeling the tacky-cool of blood under his fingertips, trying to get him sitting full up. Trying to get him to look at him. Trying to shake him back to life despite the cold and the blood and the dark and the mess and the disquieting, disjointed way his brother’s body lists to one side. Vertebrae grind and slip-slide beneath Sam’s hands; a joint no human body should have._

_The building rumbles around them under the power of another knell and a sharp growling outside the room catches Sam off-guard. Hands still around his brother’s slumped form, he wrenches his neck around to glance at the doorway. Growling, seething darkness is all he’s met with as his breath comes quicker with a sense of familiarity._

_“I’ll get you out of this. It's going to be okay.” He repeats, eyes never leaving the dark, when he feels his brother stiffen in his arms._

_Dean’s laugh ushers in the last chime, powerful as thunder. He turns from the menacing dark doorway to be met with his brother’s face etched in grey light and black blood. Eyes expressionless, oil slick voids._

_“It's really not, Sammy.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated!


	4. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a fic status update, not a new chapter. I'm so sorry.

I apologize for getting everyone's hopes up for a new chapter on this fic but I wanted to post a quick update to all of you lovely subscribers! 

 

THIS FIC IS NOT ABANDONED! I promise! 

 

My my life has been CRAZY insane over the last year and when I hit a bit of writer block on this story...I just didn't have the time, spoons, or brain space to push through it and continue on. 

That being said, I am going on a looooooong vacation type thing that will give me ample time to clear the gunk out of my brain and refresh my batteries. I hope to do some solid writing while I'm gone. 

So! While I don't expect to be updating this fic in the next few months, come October/November...I do expect to be able to get back to updating this regularly once again. 

 

I so appreciate everyone who has read this, subscribed to it, and have left marvelously sweet and encouraging comments! You all mean the world to me and motivate me to keep writing. 

I'm looking forward to being able to pay that back by getting this fic written once I'm back to real life. 

 

Thank you!!


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